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I woke up early at Bryce only to find most of my stuff wet from the previous night's thunderstorm. The lower half of my tent was covered with mud that had kicked up from the rain and the foot end of my sleeping bag was soaked. I stood about for a while wishing I had a cup of coffee then said the hell with it and took off on a chilly tour of Bryce leaving my gear draped over branches waiting for the sun to dry it all out.
Bryce Canyon is fantastically beautiful. Looking out into the canyons and the insane scenery it seemed as though my eyes were two steps ahead of my brain. Everywhere I looked it was simply eye-poppingly beautiful. I drove around in the park and stopped at most of the overlooks wishing I had a few days to spend hiking around. I'll definitely go back someday; a truly remarkable site. I snapped a few pictures but mostly stood there with my mouth hanging open.
I eventually got my coffee and headed back to camp where things were dry enough to shake out and pack. By noon the temperature had climbed up to around 90 and I was happy to be warm as I hit the road.
Soon after leaving Bryce I stopped in Panguitch at a diner where I had lunch and spent a while staring into an ominous thunderhead hanging across my path. This being the West you can see the storms coming from a long way off. After a while I got sick of waiting and headed into the teeth of the storm. I was soon forced to stop and don my 5-dollar rain pants. The crotch tore out in these cheap pants right about the time the first 18-wheeler blew by me from the opposite direction and the heavens opened up. Things went on for an hour or two like this. At one point I stopped and tried to salvage the pants with some packing tape. This not only looked really good but lasted at least 43 seconds before tearing further. At least my shins were dry. Presently I outran the storm and was able to take the abominable pants off.
I picked up 70 east heading towards Colorado. I stopped in the little town (really just a gas station and intersecting dirt roads) of Salina prompted by the disturbing road sign proclaiming "Last service for 108 miles". Do the math: 3.3 gallon tank, maybe 38 miles per gallon if I keep it under 70 mph. Thankfully the gas station sold spare fuel tanks. I bought one, filled it and my bike up and strapped it to the rest of my gear. Up until Salina, route 70 is pretty boring. East of Salina is absolutely beautiful. 4 lanes, uncrowded, slow sweeping curves and some of the most spectacular scenery I've ever seen. Of course the crosswinds are fierce, but I was used to this by now. At one point I saw a brand new Dodge pickup towing an Airstream trailer flipped on the median. Must've been a victim of the crosswinds. About 70 miles out from Salina, I refilled my tank, thankful for the spare tank.
I eventually made it into Fruita, Colorado where I spent the night at a Comfort Inn. As usual a stranger (and his young daughter) spent some time talking with me about the various Harley's he'd owned and the trips he'd taken. I particularly liked his description of his mid-50's Harley, "I had to take the picture of it off the wall 'cuz too much oil was leakin' down the wall from the damn thing. Great bike though."
Before I turned in I had to get dinner so I put my stuff in the room and headed out into the warm night. This was the first time on this trip where I actually rode around at night. Even though I was bone tired it felt great to be driving around under the stars without all the gear. The sky was a bed of diamonds against the jet black night sky and the slopes of the nearby mountains were glowing pale hulks in the dim light. I had to force myself to roll back to the hotel; I felt like a kid on Christmas morning.
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